A Fake Psychic In King Arthur's Court
by VickyVicarious
Summary: Basically: I took the first sentence from every tenth page of "A Conneticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court" by Mark Twain, and used it as the prompt for a very short drabble. Keep in mind that they are odd, and are NOT in any way connected to each-other.


_It was in Warwick Castle that I came across the curious stranger whom I am going to talk about._

There was something odd about him; beyond his sense of humor, which had Juliet laughing and wondering how he came _up_ with these things, and trying to quiet him down, so the tour guide didn't glare at them. Two men were already doing so – one who was visiting with Juliet and one who was there with this Shawn guy.

He explained that the man with him was his father – and apparently evil – and then, before she could offer a word of explanation, he said, "And that guy with you, he's your partner, right? Cops, no – detectives?"

She blinked in surprise, and he shrugged. "So was my dad. You grow up in a police station, you learn what cops look like."

But he kept doing it, the entire tour; uttering small little details he shouldn't know, and acting like it was perfectly normal. He even knew how old her parents were, and if she hadn't just spent an hour talking to him instead of paying attention to the castle history, Juliet would be afraid that he was stalking her or something.

But he wasn't, she was sure of that. There was just something… different about him.

* * *

_The moment I got a chance I slipped aside privately and touched an ancient common looking man on the shoulder, and said, in an insinuating, confidential way – "Friend, do me a kindness."_

"Hey, Lassy. I need a favor."

Lassiter glared at Shawn, emitting a low growl. "What, Spencer?"

Shawn leaned in close, his hand resting on Lassiter's shoulder, and said in a secretive way, "Look, I need a place to stay for a little while. I promise I won't be too long. It's just…" He glanced back at the group of people celebrating behind them, before turning back to Lassiter and lowering his voice even more. "The guy kind of got into my apartment before we got him, and it got trashed – long story short, my landlord's had enough and is kicking me out."

Lassiter's eyes widened, and without realizing it, he leaned a little closer to Shawn. "Smith broke into your _apartment?_ Why the hell didn't you report it?"

Shawn shrugged, "I didn't know until after the whole showdown. You remember he said something about leaving me a message? Yeah, apparently I was supposed to have gone home and seen what he did, and freak out. But I fell asleep at the Psych office that night, and was too busy with the case to go back home in the morning, so I didn't even notice until I tried to go home today."

Lassiter frowned. "What did he do?"

Shawn swallowed, looking a little uncomfortable. "Nothing _too_ big… He just sort of smashed everything up, hit some holes in the walls, left a dead animal on my bed…" Before Lassiter could respond, Shawn continued, "Look, I just need a place to stay for a few days, okay? I don't want anyone else to know. Gus and Jules will just get worried, and Dad will go off on a monster lecture about how he knew this was going to get me killed, blah blah blah…"

Shawn closed his eyes and visibly forced himself to say the next word. "P… _Please_, Lassy?"

Lassiter was still frowning slightly, but as he looked up and down Shawn's form, taking in the man's tense muscles and obvious discomfort and worry – but underneath that, trust – he felt a warm feeling pool in the middle of his stomach.

He nodded, and Shawn instantly relaxed, a wide grin splitting his face. "Awesome! I swear, I'm gonna be the world's best roommate. I'm going to go get you another drink, huh?" Still grinning, Shawn slapped Lassiter on the back in an almost-hug, then took off, bounding towards the bar.

Lassiter rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smile as he watched Shawn go back to the bar, stopping to talk and laugh with many people on the way. Yes, maybe people didn't think of him as fun, or as one of their best friends. And maybe he seemed a little trigger-happy and unapproachable sometimes.

But they trusted him, even with their secrets. Even _Shawn Spencer_ knew he could count on Lassiter, and for some reason, knowing that had just made the Head Detective's day.

* * *

_So they rode till they came to a lake, the which was a fair water and broad, and in the midst of the lake Arthur was ware of an arm clothed in white samite, that held a fair sword in that hand._

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

Three seconds passed, during which the only sound was the car driving onwards.

"Are we there yet?"

Lassiter broke. "_No_, Spencer, we are not there yet, and you should _know_ that, considering that _you_ are the one leading us to this stupid place!"

There was another short pause as Shawn digested that statement, and then he shrugged. "Fair enough."

Lassiter let out a long sigh of relief, and enjoyed the next two minutes of silence.

Then – "Are we there yet?"

"_Spencer!_" Lassiter tried not to notice the giggles and snickers that both Juliet and Gus were obviously trying to suppress, and kept his eyes on the road.

"What, I was asking myself! And… actually, we are! Pull over, pull over!"

The car screeched to the side of the road, and everyone exited the car. For another few moments, there was silence, and then Lassiter spoke in a quiet, deadly voice.

"Spencer, why are we standing in front of a lake?"

Shawn grinned. "The murder weapon is in the middle! The knife. I had a vision of Excalibur, and Gus and I figured out that it meant – "

Juliet's voice was astonished. "It's stuck on that branch drooping into the middle! You can see it glinting!"

Lassiter nodded. "Well done, Spencer." Then he reached out and grabbed the psychic by the collar, dragging him around the car. "Now, let's talk about the ride back."

The first half of the ride back to the police station was completed in utter silence, a handcuffed Shawn glaring at the driver's seat, the duct tape over his mouth effectively cutting off all communication.

Then the humming began.

* * *

"_No!"_

"Don't do it Lassy, this will haunt you forever – Gus, _heeelp!_"

Lassiter ignored Shawn's protests, continuing to simply carry him along. Though the psychic struggled, he was weak and no match for Lassiter's larger frame, and soon they reached their destination.

"_**No!**_"

The last protest was drowned out as Lassiter lifted Shawn high above his head – and flung him into the lava. Music played, announcing the psychic's death, and he flung down his controller, glaring angrily at the screen.

Then he turned to his partner. "Dude, where were you? You were supposed to watch my back!"

The man shrugged. "Sorry… But my player keeps getting stuck in the corner. I think something gummed up the buttons on my controller…"

"Aargh! _Gus!_"

* * *

_It seemed a great pity to have wasted it so, and come lagging along at a time when a body wouldn't have any use for it as like as not._

Shawn sighed, biting his lip as he looked in the box. Finally, he reached in and pulled out the piece of paper with a sigh.

He still remembered those days, when his father had actually been proud of him, way back when, before everything began. And the days when, despite their arguments, he'd still had hope for their relationship, still thought that one day they would make up…

This piece of paper in his hand would probably have made that happen, if Shawn hadn't been so stupid and let it waste away in here, until years had passed and any hope for their relationship was long gone. He would never see that look of pride on his dad's face again, and the time was long past when a simple piece of paper would put it there.

He had no use for it now.

With another sigh, Shawn closed his eyes, and slowly ripped the certificate that showed that he'd graduated from a Police Academy in two.

* * *

_It was a most gaudy and gorgeous crowd, as to costumery, and very characteristic of the country and the time, in the way of high animal spirits, innocent indecencies of language, and happy-hearted indifference to morals._

"Does anyone else feel out of place here?" Lassiter muttered out of the corner of his mouth, trying not to appear conspicuous or, even worse, show his fear.

Juliet, on the other hand, had no problem doing so. "Oh god, look at them! I feel so fat right now…"

Shawn grinned at her. "Oh come on, Jules, you know you're gorgeous. And besides, haven't either of you guys _ever_ wanted to go to a VIP party? Come on, this is awesome!"

Lassiter scooted backwards, a little closer to the wall. "I think I'll observe for any suspicious activity from here."

Gus nodded. "You know, me too…" At Shawn's incredulous gaze, he held up his hands in self-defense. "Shawn, you know how I am about grammar! And… it just hurts to be in here. They're killing the English language."

Shawn rolled his eyes and turned to Juliet. "Oh, come on Jules, dance! Mingle with me! Yes, they're evil-hearted moneybags who don't really care that this is supposed to be for charity, but they're so _pretty!_" She giggled and he caught her hand, tugging her gently away from the other two. "And besides, I need to get closer to people, so I can get a psychic read, and see who our bad guy is."

Juliet sighed, but then let a smile cross her face. "Oh, all right. Come on, Shawn. Let's go talk to the famous people."

* * *

_Now you would think that the first thing the king would do after listening to such a novelette from an entire stranger, would be to ask for credentials – yes, and a pointer or two as to locality of castle, best route to it, and so on._

And that was probably what she _should_ do, too, but she was desperate and besides, something told Karen Vick that she could trust Shawn. Maybe not trust him to stay off her pregnancy chair, but she could trust him on cases, no matter what her Head Detective said.

Of course, even if the first thing she did was simply hiring him, she still needed to check up on him and make sure she'd made the right decision – hence inviting Henry over.

And after Henry backed up his son… well. That was all Karen needed in the way of credentials, but even so she had to test Shawn. Even if he didn't know he was being tested, he was over the next few weeks, and it was only when he passed those tests without even knowing it that she fully relaxed around him.

But she still wondered.

* * *

_It is not a light thing, let it sound as it may._

No matter what they said, it _was_ a big deal, not just some little issue that occasionally bothered him. It was important and it was unpleasant and it was necessary; the only reason he kept doing it. Because no one else could, and no one else would.

But sometimes it ate at him, how these people simply used him for his gift. The cops would never know how he felt, because he always presented a happy face, always brushed off the insults from some of them, because he knew most of them liked him, at least. Lassiter… not so much, but Juliet and he were almost friends, and he really got along with a few others.

But they still used him, without even realizing, and that hurt. Sometimes, lying in bed late at night, one arm wrapped around his bedmate, he would stare at the ceiling and think about the ways they used him, resentment eating away at his throat.

But in the end, he really didn't mind. Because, yeah, they were using him, but he was doing good, and that was what was important. No one else had a memory like his; no one else could do this job day in, day out. And that made him special.

So Buzz McNabb smiled, and delivered everyone in the station their coffee (or smoothie) exactly how they liked it best, every single morning.

* * *

"_And it is the first thing that you yourself will be taught in that Factory –"_

Henry smiled at his son, pointing at the police station doors. "I know you don't think it's fun right now, Shawn, but I promise you, it's the first thing they'll teach you there, and it's the most important thing you'll ever have to remember."

Shawn sighed, but resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His dad was in a good mood, even if he was being boring, so he tried to indulge him. Besides, he liked it when his dad talked to him, even if the topics were a little boring. And Dad said it would be important later, and he was never wrong, so Shawn smiled up at him. "Okay, Dad. I'll remember."

Henry smiled down at his son and ruffled his hair. "I don't doubt that, champ."

Shawn grinned, and giggled when Henry reached down to pick him up and swing him onto a shoulder, before heading inside the building. "Come on kid, Mom's waiting inside."

* * *

_Ah, said Sir Gawaine, gentle knight, ye say the word that I should say._

"That was my line, Shawn! You can't just steal my line!"

Shawn rolled his eyes, unperturbed by his friend's anger. "Come on dude, everybody loved it. It was great."

Gus was obviously still angry. "No, Shawn, it was _not_ great! A tomato isn't even a vegetable – and when did you make up a _song?_ –Nevermind, it doesn't matter. The point is, I came out next dressed as a _broccoli_ and I didn't even have any lines, because you stole them! I had to make stuff up!"

Shawn sighed. "Gus. First off, everyone knows tomatoes are veggies, don't be stupid. And of _course_ I made up a song, I had to capture the essence of my character. And I'm sure Mrs. Campbell believed that broccolis are really the last surviving trees from the Tinithisaurus dinosaur era. She looked convinced to me."

Gus glared at his friend. "You're buying me a new comic book. Or else I'm telling your dad."

"What! I mean, what? Gus, you can't just – "

Gus raised an eyebrow, and held out a hand.

Shawn groaned, and began digging through his pockets. "How much do comic books cost, anyway?"

* * *

_At the head of the hall, on a dais, was the table of the king, queen, and their son, Prince Uwaine._

Most of the time, Shawn hated doing police stuff with his dad. It was usually boring and full of lessons – but the police barbeque was different. Every year, Henry, Madeleine, and Shawn sat at the end of the table, and everyone looked up to them before they began eating.

Maybe it was because the Chief never went to the barbeques, or maybe it was because Henry had always solved the most cases the year in question, or maybe it was just because Henry was so scary, but every year at the police barbeque, Shawn's dad was King, and he was the Prince.

Shawn grinned, and asked if someone could bring him more food, watching cops scurry off with a huge grin. Maybe this was what his dad meant when he said that being a good cop was good for him, "both inside and out."

* * *

_And as for me, all that I think about in this plodding sad pilgrimage, this pathetic drift between the eternities, is to look out and humbly live a pure and high and blameless life, and save that one microscopic atom in me that is truly __**me**__: the rest may land in Sheol and welcome for all I care._

"Look, Dad, I don't care, okay? I don't care about your stupid party thing, or whether it makes me a bad person not to go, or if you're disappointed in me, or even if my Great-Grandma that I never met dies of being – wow – _112_ years old, okay! Right now, I'm in a lot of shit down here, and all I care about is trying to get out of here, because this guy seriously wants to kill me or something because apparently Josefina was actually his girlfriend even though I'm pretty sure he just has a crush on her, and I already lost my job and I'm staying with friends, and I'm just not having a good month, and I need to look out for my_self_ right now! And even more than that, hmm… what was it… oh yeah: I. Don't. _Care_. Got it, Dad? Leave me alone!"

* * *

"_Even so standeth the history, fair Sir Boss."_

"But, Lassy…"

Lassiter shook his head. "No, Spencer. That's the way it is, and the way it's always been, and nothing you say is going to change that."

Shawn pouted desperately, but the detective just rolled his eyes and thanked God O'Hara wasn't here; she'd have caved so fast there wouldn't even be time to blink.

Shawn bit his lip and leaned forward. "Come on Lassy, please? I think I count as an important member of this community, right? Everybody likes me; I help?" When his pleading failed to induce more than a glare, he pulled back and actually stomped his foot.

Lassiter shrugged, smiling. It wasn't often he was allowed to exclude the psychic completely from something. This was fun. "Sorry Spencer. It's tradition. Only _actual_ police officers: no consultants allowed."

Shawn glared at Lassiter, and stomped away. "This isn't over, Lassy!"

Lassiter rolled his eyes again, smiling.

* * *

_I could have eaten with the hogs if I had had birth approaching my lofty official rank; but I hadn't, and so accepted the unavoidable slight and made no complaint._

Lassiter tried not to let it bother him, how clique-y the police station was. Sure, sometimes it really got on his nerves, but for the most part, he ignored it. He knew that the police station was a place that valued legacies. And of course, he didn't have one, his own parents having been a dentist and a housewife. So sometimes he was less included, less than even his gruff attitude warranted. But he never let it bother him.

Because there was nothing he could do about it anyway, and it would be petty to actually voice any objection – it would make him sound desperate, and other people feel guilty, something Lassiter never really liked. So when most people in the department, even including O'Hara and _Spencer_ and Forrest, the CSI guy that no one liked, but Lassiter didn't get one; he went about his business as usual and said nothing.

* * *

_"And at last they sent for thee, Sir Boss, to try magic and enchantment; and if you could not come, then was the messenger to fetch Merlin, and he is there these three days now, and saith he will fetch that water though he burst the globe and wreck its kingdoms to accomplish it; and right bravely doth he work his magic and call upon his hellions to hie them hither and help, but not a whiff of moisture has he started yet, even so much as might qualify as mist upon a copper mirror an ye count not the barrel of sweat he sweateth betwixt sun and sun over the dire labors of his task; and if ye –"_

"…and this other psychic guy is really trying, we all know he is Shawn, but no matter what he does – and some of it looks pretty weird, let me tell you, even weirder than some of the stuff you do – he can't match up to you Shawn, and this case is really important, so it would be great if you'd just come help, and I know you said you were busy, but even _Lassiter_ wants you to come in, we're that desperate; did I mention the other psychic has been there three days already and we've only got today and tomorrow to catch the guy before he's gone forever, so you wouldn't have to take much time away from whatever you're doing, please Shawn, we'd all be really grateful if you –"

Shawn clapped a hand over Juliet's mouth, stopping the babble mid-stream. He made shushing faces, and slowly pulled his hand back, eyes wide. "Okay, Jules, I'll go. But only because you've clearly got coffee poisoning, and if _you_, who doesn't even really like coffee, needs that much coffee to stay awake… I can't _wait_ to see what a hyper Lassy is like."

* * *

_They were regarded as a perfect protection against sin, and advertised as such by my knights everywhere, with the paintpot and stencil plate; insomuch as there was not a cliff or a boulder or a dead wall in England but you could read on it at a mile distance: "__**Buy the only genuine St. Styline; patronized by the nobility. Patent applied for.**__"_

They were everywhere. It seemed like no matter where he turned, Lassiter saw them grinning at him, no matter how many he tore down as he passed. The stupid flyers were_ everywhere_, and people were actually taking them down and saving them, looking at them like they held the secrets to the world.

None of it was helping Lassiter's mood any, and he growled as he passed another one, rolling his eyes at its message. "**Santa Barbara's **_**only**_** professional psychic detective agency now in business! Already employed by the police. Call us, we know you want to.**"

Lassiter shook his head, but forced himself to stop thinking about the stupid psychic. His blood pressure didn't need any more help.

Those thoughts in mind, Lassiter managed to ignore all the flyers he passed on foot, and once he was in his car, he was mercifully free from the sight of them. A relieved smile crossed his face, despite the bad traffic he was currently stuck in. At least he didn't have to look at those idiots any more.

Something caught his eye, and he glanced over to his right, only to freeze in utter hopelessness.

When the hell did they get a _billboard?_

* * *

_He said: "Ah, son, ask aught else thou wilt, and it is thine, and freely granted out of a grateful heart – but this, oh, this!"_

Henry shook his head. "Shawn, look – I know I said I owed you a favor but that doesn't mean that –"

Shawn rolled his eyes, grabbing his father's arm and tugging him along. "And what have you done every single time _I_ owed you a favor? You made me do some big task for you, right away! And I don't have an attic for you to clean."

Henry chewed at his lips, reluctantly following his son, but still trying to get out of what was coming. "Come on Shawn, anything else – I'm really asking you here. Don't do this to me."

Shawn grinned evilly and shoved his father forward again. "Come on Pops, let's go."

The next thirty minutes were quite possibly the most amusing of Shawn's life, as he sat with his father sitting in a group, watching Henry attempt to 'confess his feelings' to other father/son pairs in need of therapy. And since it was Father's Night, he didn't have to say a thing.

He could just watch and smile.

* * *

_When the king traveled for a change of air, or made a progress, or visited a distant noble whom he wished to bankrupt with the cost of his keep, part of the administration moved with him._

Whenever Chief Vick left to go to a seminar, or left town to go on to any police-related business really, the Head Detective accompanied her – leaving Juliet in charge. It was always a very stressful experience, one that made her respect for both the Chief and Lassiter grow; they both had to carry workloads like that most of the time.

But it also made her tired and irritable, and incredibly stressed, because it really was a _lot_ of work, most of which was very important and urgent.

So when Shawn began making it habit to drop by every time Chief Vick and Lassiter were out of town, and snooze in the Chief's office… Juliet didn't handle it as well as she could've. She yelled at him and threw him out of the station in a way normally reserved for Lassiter. And she was stunned when Gus stormed up to her only minutes later, a glare on his face, and hissed, "You could have just _told_ us you don't want help!" before leaving with a disgusted shake of the head.

When Juliet walked into the Chief's office, she was even more shocked to find a large pile of completed files on the desk, and one half-finished one dropped haphazardly on the floor. A hand came up to her mouth in shock, and her eyes grew wide, and she immediately whipped out her cell phone.

And now whenever the Chief and Lassiter are out of town, Juliet, Gus, and Shawn order Chinese and have a work party, Gus and Shawn sitting cross-legged on top of Lassiter's desk as they fill out files and forms and solve simple cases.

And when Lassiter and Chief Vick return and commend Juliet for handling her workload so effectively, the entire station shares a glance and a grin, but no one says a thing.

* * *

_I was almost ashamed to look my poor disappointed cadet in the face._

After the serial help line killer case – which really needed a better name – Lassiter could barely look Buzz in the face. At the time, when he'd refused the man his advice, he'd been stressed and had _probably_ taken the simple question the wrong way… But it hadn't really hit him until later – he'd been so busy with his cases that it didn't even occur to him to feel guilty.

But now, knowing that the young officer had nearly _died_ because of him… God, Lassiter felt guilty. Even more so because of the way everyone had looked at him – the Chief, his partner, even that ridiculous psychic pair: all gave him one horrified, disappointed look… - and even worse, he knew Buzz didn't even blame him. The young policeman was the departments so-called 'mascot' for a reason; the same reason that Spencer was so well liked.

Buzz McNabb was simply so cheerful, and so sure in his beliefs… He was naïve, true, but he really believed in what he was doing, and was pure cop to the core. He was, quite simply, the most pure-hearted person Lassiter had ever met – and he'd almost died because Lassiter had been too cranky to answer a simple question.

So yes, Lassiter felt very guilty, and couldn't quite talk to Officer McNabb for several days after the incident. It was only when said officer actually approached him and _apologized_ for whatever he'd done that made Lassiter so angry he ignored him, that Lassiter realized he was doing no one any good, and probably making Buzz feel worse.

So he accepted the coffee the man offered him – and damn it if Buzz McNabb didn't need to be kept around simply for the coffee he made, it was that good – and forced himself to look Buzz straight in the eyes.

"No, _I'm_ sorry, McNabb. I've just had a lot on my mind lately. How's the fiancé doing?"

* * *

_Of course it was good enough journalism for a beginning; I knew that quite well, and yet it was somehow disappointing._

"Just… I don't know, Gus, they just could have phrased it better, that's all. I mean, 'psychic solves Callahan case' just doesn't have that ring to it! I mean… 'psychic solves sixteenth police case, Callahan robbery, in record time, though even police were stumped' sounds much better."

Gus rolled his eyes and didn't look up from his computer screen. "Duo. And no, Shawn, that title of yours is too long and you say 'police' twice. It's repetitive."

Shawn frowned for a moment, choosing to ignore the second half of Gus' answer. "Duo?"

Gus hit the keyboard desperately, trying to keep his character alive. "Psychic _duo_ solves Callahan case."

Shawn blinked, looked at the newspaper, then swiftly folded it so that Gus couldn't read the headline. "Right, I totally missed that. It's because you're just taken for granted – I didn't think it even needed to be said."

Gus frowned, glancing away from his computer, and didn't even notice when he lost his game. "They didn't say 'duo', did they?"

Shawn tossed the newspaper in the trash. "Of course they did. You know, their headlines are great, I agree. Hey, you want some jerk chicken? Let's get lunch."

Gus' eyes narrowed, and he quickly strode forward, opening the paper and glaring at it. "Why, those…" He quickly read the article, then tossed the paper back in the trash, glaring at it. "They only mention me once, and they got my _name_ wrong!"

Shawn quickly thought back… "Bruton Gaster."

Gus growled, "It's _Burton Guster!_ Why can't they get that right? And Psych is _both_ of our business – they can't just credit it all to you!"

"Dude, calm down… See the reporter's name? She's new. Maybe she just didn't know… Why don't we just let it go?"

Gus' head jerked up and Shawn quickly backpedaled. "Never mind, we can't forgive this, no way!"

"Damn right! We're reporting a misprinting – and they _better_ run an apology!" Gus snatched up the phone, and Shawn sat back in his chair, watching his friend with a grin.

"Ooh, can we get them to change the headline to 'Psych Man and Magichead save the day!'?"

* * *

_I say we, for the king joined the audience, of course, as soon as he had got his breath again._

"_We_ solved it, Lassy, don't you go stealing our moment!"

There was a long pause, as people glanced around the room, looking for the other member of the 'we' and wondering if the psychic had finally lost it and was hallucinating people.

Lassiter's voice was dry and skeptical. "'We'?"

Shawn bent down out of sight for a moment, then rose back to his feet, helping a slightly breathless Gus with him. Everyone gave the man a confused look, and Shawn explained, "The guy knocked the breath out of him."

"_Ohh…_" The entire room nodded as one, sympathy and understanding on their faces for a brief moment.

* * *

"_But it was his right," interrupted the king._

"– I know it may seem unfair, Mr. Spencer, but everyone has rights, Mr. Lewis included. And because we didn't respect those rights, he's going to get a much shorter prison sentence. That's simply the way it is."

Shawn stood, shoving his chair back. "He killed _seven people_, Chief!"

Karen glanced down, away from him, then back up. "And this is why it's so important to follow the rules, Mr. Spencer. Because things like this will happen otherwise." She sighed. "He's not exactly young. A fifteen-year sentence might well be the same as being locked up for life."

Shawn shook his head, swallowing hard. Disgust painted his usually happy features, and his teeth were clenched in uncharacteristic anger. "No," he growled, turning to leave the office. "This is why I never became a cop."

* * *

_He looked pleased; pleased, and touched with apprehension at the same time._

"You – could you repeat that?"

Juliet smiled. "I said yes, Shawn. I'd love to go out with you tonight Pick me up at seven."

Shawn's mouth fell open and worked silently for several moments, before he quickly replaced it with his usual cocky grin. "I knew you couldn't resist me." Then fear passed over his face and he quickly leaned close. "You _do_ know this is a date, right?"

Juliet rolled her eyes and laughed. "Yes Shawn, I know. You should probably go, I think Gus is ready to leave without you."

"Right! Right! See you tonight!" Shawn's grin was wider than ever before as he quickly jogged out of the station, sliding into the Psychmobile's passenger seat even as Gus began to pull away.

Gus glanced at his friend, "Why are you so happy?"

Shawn shrugged, trying to downplay his pleasure. "Oh, nothing… Jules and I are just going on a date tonight, that's all."

Gus turned his head to stare at Shawn and nearly drove off the road. Quickly turning back to the front, he asked, "She knows it's a date, right?"

"Of _course_ she does, Gus, how could you ask that?!" Gus raised his eyebrows, not looking away from the road, and Shawn sighed, "I double-checked. She knows."

The grin returned to his face seconds later. "Dude, this is gonna be awesome!"

By now they had reached the Psych offices, and Gus parked outside with a shrug. "Just don't mess this up, Shawn."

Shawn rolled his eyes as Gus slammed his car door and walked away. "Gus, don't be a wacky inflatable arm-waving tube man! Of _course_ I won't mess this up…"

Two minutes later Shawn dashed into Psych, in a complete panic. "Help me Gus, I'm going to mess this up!"

* * *

"_I remember me of that fine day!" The wheelwright sang out, with enthusiasm._

"Yeah… that was a great time." He shrugged, turning the wheel just a little. "I mean, I even let him take a turn on the wheel here. He just… Shawn has that _something_, you know, that draws people to him?

"Yeah, Shawn was great. He won Best Tan, did you know that? Defeated the ruling champion – poor guy hasn't been the same since. And his going-away party… It took the maids three days to clean up from the party, it was so huge." The man smiled wistfully.

"Sometimes… I wish I hadn't fired him. This place just hasn't been the same since. But at least we've all got our memories."

* * *

_It was a crusher._

The worst kinds of day are known around the station as 'crushers'. Those are the days when a serial rapist has just gotten off on a technicality, when you've gotten divorce papers in the mail that morning, when you've recently been forced to leave your house and are living in a filthy Motel 6, when the coffee machine is broken, when you have been awake for nearly four days straight but still see no pattern to the murders in front of you, when you know that the man is torturing a girl out there somewhere but you don't know _where_, when you just want everything to stop, when you just want a rest.

Those are the days when you actually feel _grateful_ to see Spencer walk through the door. Those are the days when you watch from your desk without saying a word as he takes the file and examines it, a serious expression on his face for once. Those are the days when you hold your breath and pray he really _is_ psychic, and can save this latest girl. Those are the days when you don't mind his jokes, because you know they're his way of releasing the pressure. Those are the days when, after he's solved the case in less than twelve hours and you've finally arrested your man, you say _thank you_.

Those are the days when you don't visit the shooting range to work out your tension in the usual way, preferring to just drive back to your hotel room and collapse on the couch. Those are the days when the doorbell rings after you've stared at the wall for twenty minutes, and when you force yourself to answer it, you see the psychic standing outside with a sad smile, a movie, and a six-pack. Those are the days when you let him in, and stay there, watching some stupid movie you couldn't care less about with a man you profess to hate, drinking crap beer, and try your hardest to keep from breaking down.

Today was a crusher.

* * *

_Well, while they were gradually playing out, it suddenly occurred to me to wonder what had become of Marco._

Gus had never hated Shawn as much as he had when his friend left him alone in the haunted mansion. (_which wasn't really haunted, he knew that logically, but he'd been afraid of it forever and logic wasn't worth anything in a situation like this one_) But still, after the first four minutes, the hatred turned into a desperate yearning, and soon he wasn't yelling Shawn's name in anger but rather in terror.

"Shawn! _Shawn!_" Gus tried not to break down and sob, determined not to be a coward. (_but __**god**__ this house was creepy and who knew how many ghosts might be in an ex-insane asylum anyway?)_

Six minutes after Shawn had gone, his best friend had completely left his mind, as he was too preoccupied with trying to extract his foot from the stupid painting and still guard his back with his belt. (_he would bend down but then he'd be leaving himself completely unprotected_)

Twenty minutes after, Gus had lost the battle against his tears completely, and he didn't even care any more. (_and he was bent over, almost trying to curl up into fetal position, and nothing was left in his head but a white-hot fear_). And when the voice resounded loudly throughout the room, all his fears were realized for one single terror-filled moment.

Then it said, "Work the laces."

Gus had never hated Shawn as much as he did when his friend finally appeared, standing at the end of the hall, smirking at him. (_but he'd also never felt so relieved, and even through his anger, the moment he heard Shawn's voice he felt safe_)

* * *

_Even that dull clod of a slave driver was able to see that there can be such a thing as a slave who will remain a man till he dies; whose bones you can break, but whose manhood you can't._

Even the convict standing above him could see quite clearly that Detective Henry Spencer was not going to crack; he knew it when he'd kidnapped him, he knew it when he'd broken his arm in an attempt to get him to speak. The Detective was simply that kind of man – a real man, no matter what was done to him. No matter what was done to him, his will alone would be enough to carry him through it.

And the murderer respected him for it. Respected him, and reached for a knife, because nothing was more _fun_ than someone who remained strong even as they died.

* * *

_Then the court begged my pardon, and hoped I would not fail to tell his lordship it was in no wise the court's fault that this high-handed thing had happened._

"No, no, it's okay dude. Really, relax." Shawn smiled comfortingly at the man. "Look, I'm not going to tell on you. I promise. I'll just tell him the machines broke, and took a little while to fix."

"Oh… oh, thank god." The man wiped his brow – Shawn could hardly believe he was actually _sweating_ – and allowed his shoulders to slump in relief. "I – I know it wasn't really my fault – I think I might have drank something, but… But Detective L-Lassiter really scares me. If he knew that I'd fallen asleep on duty…" He gulped, and rapidly shook his head. "Thanks, Shawn."

And with just a single sleeping pill and a carefully timed entrance, Shawn had permanent access to all evidence in the lab.

* * *

_It will be observed, by a glance at our advertising columns, that the community is to be favoured with a treat of unusual interest in the tournament line._

I'm – I'm getting something! I'm getting something! It's… circles! Five… circles… All together – the Olympics? Olympics! Olympic winners… Winners; it's the medals, the gold medals, he loves them, he's obsessed, he wants one of his own, he wants it so much, almost as much as he wants – ohh…

Oh god, it hurts, the withdrawal – he can't stand it, he can't take it long enough, he can't qualify for anything, no matter how good he is. And it makes him so angry… so – damn you! How dare you take this away from me, you rotten bastard! That was _my_ medal; I deserved it! Not you! You're going to pay for this… He – he's speaking to me, I can hear him, oh god, it's too much – where are you taking me? **stumble across room into cabinet** Here? You stole the medals after you killed them, and hid them here? But this thing is empty, why would you – a secret drawer?! That's so cool! Gus, this desk…_thing_ has a secret drawer! We _so_ have to get one of these for the office!

* * *

_When I broke the back of knight-errantry that time, I no longer felt obligated to work in secret._

"Well, you caught me." Shawn sighed. "I didn't use psychic abilities to solve that case. Just plain old detective work."

Lassiter stared at him, and suddenly Shawn just didn't care anymore. "Okay, you know what, fine. That's all I've ever done." Gus was tugging on his sleeve, but Shawn ignored him. "No, you're right, Lassy! I'm just a _really_ good detective. Oh, and the whole photographic memory and extra-sensitive perception things help too. But hey – you knew it all along! I'm – _not_ – psychic! Lassy was right again! Three cheers for Lassiter! You gonna throw me in jail now, Lassy? You finally gonna arrest me, huh?"

Shawn had moved closer as he spoke and now he was standing right in front of the detective, glaring at him. He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "Seriously, Lassy, what are you going to do know? Have I really done anything _wrong?_ Come on, Officer," He held his hands up together, raising a taunting eyebrow. "Are you gonna cuff me?"

Gus held his breath as he saw Lassiter's eyes flick down to Shawn's hands before going back up to his face. The detective had one hand on his cuffs, but it wasn't moving. Time seemed to freeze, as they waited for him to make a decision.

* * *

_Had there been an invasion?_

"What the hell happened here?" Lassiter barked, staring at the area around his desk. "Where's Spencer?"

Juliet stood next to him, mouth wide open as she took in the sight of the little corner Lassiter called his 'office', uncertain whether to laugh – or run before the Head Detective vented his wrath upon the nearest person.

Then she remembered something. "Carlton, Shawn never came in today. Remember – he went on that camping trip with his dad?"

Lassiter growled, "How can I forget?"

"_Lassy, help! No, don't let him take me!" Shawn clung to the detective's shoulder's, using him as a human shield against his father, who was glaring angrily. Henry managed to dash around the bemused detective and grab his son by the arm and yank him free from the detective – but then Shawn began clinging to the furniture._

"It took us twenty minutes to get him out here," Lassiter remembered. "But who _else_ would dare to do something like _this_?"

Juliet shook her head, trying – and almost failing – to conceal a grin. "I – I don't know."

Lassiter took a few steps forward, picking up the first My Little Pony from the humongous herd that covered his desk, floor, shelves, and were even perched on his desk lamp. He examined it briefly, jaw clenched.

"I was here just ten minutes ago! How the hell could he get here without Henry noticing him missing, and set this all up in just _ten minutes?!_"

At the sight of Lassiter _holding_ a My Little Pony, Juliet could barely a giggle, but she disguised the choked-off sound as a cough.

"It's like they just… invaded," Lassiter muttered, and at that, she couldn't hold it in any longer.

* * *

"_Well, how have you arranged the fence?"_

Lassiter eyed the cage somewhat nervously. "Seriously – are you _sure_ those monkeys are contained?"

Next to him, Juliet was equally worried. "They look like they could get out."

Shawn and Gus raised their eyebrows. "What's up with you guys? You have a fear of monkeys or something?"

The two detectives exchanged a look and shuddered. Then Lassiter turned back to the zoo director. "I think you should double-check to make sure it's closed. Those things are a lot smarter than most people think."

Juliet nodded seriously. "And they have _really_ sharp claws." Again, the detectives shared a wince.

They looked back at the monkeys, who were crowding closer to the bars, and both stepped back, Lassiter reaching for his gun, and Juliet stepping quickly behind Shawn.

"What – what are you two – Jules?"

Lassiter glared at the zoo director. "Just – check the cage."

* * *

_They would grow bolder in the night, perhaps._

It was the nights that were the worst, for Henry. The memories grew stronger and kept him awake, until finally he had to turn on the TV just to keep from feeling so lonely in his empty house. Daytimes, he enjoyed the peace, and he didn't miss Madeleine so much, and he managed to at least cope.

But nighttimes… At night, all of his memories and loneliness returned, worse than ever before, choking him in his bed with _might-have-been_'s and _if-only_'s he would never waste his time on, during the day. Not to mention all the fears – at night, Henry can _what-if_ with the best of them.

But some nights, he felt peaceful, and it was no coincidence that they were the days when Shawn completed a case. Because on those nights, he felt like maybe he hadn't done such a bad job raising the kid, even without Madeleine's help. On those nights, he felt like maybe Shawn was doing okay, despite what he himself said. On those nights, he felt like he might just be sort of proud.

And on those nights, he had no need for what-if's, if-only's, or might-have-been's, because on those nights, what he actually had was better than any of them might be.

* * *

_And such dreams!_

(_Home_)

(_Kisses_)

Every night, Shawn dreams about the things that, deep down, he knows he's always wanted. Things he's never really admitted out loud, because it wouldn't seem to fit with the way he acts.

(_Children_)

(_A dog_)

Every morning, he takes a shower, and in the shower, the dreams fade, until all that's left is whispers, single words that fill him with a quiet longing.

(_Juliet_)

(_Family_)

Every day, Shawn tries not to acknowledge the stuff of his dreams, because none of it is something he can actually _have_, and he doesn't like feeling lonely. There's only one thing that always appears in his dreams, and that he's always had, and he latches onto it like it's his only source of air, because it gives him hope that maybe, he can get the other things too, someday.

(_Pineapple_)


End file.
